


out of the mouths of birds

by Siriusstuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Derek and Stiles are Neighbors, Ficlet, M/M, Prompt Fic, TFLN prompt, fluff or crack, i'm not sure, mature rating is for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusstuff/pseuds/Siriusstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who's got a cow in the building?</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of the mouths of birds

**Author's Note:**

> My response to the TFLN prompt, (303): So you have no knowledge as to why I am hearing loud repetitive mooing from next door?

Derek had never lived on a farm or even near one. He’d never visited a dairy. He’d only heard cows on TV and in movies.

But that was definitely a _moo_ he’d heard.

And it seemed to originate from the apartment next to his.

_“Mmmoo-oo-oo!”_

Leaving work late he’d stopped to pick up something for dinner. Seated comfortably at his table he was just about to take a big bite when—

_“Mmmoo-oo-oo!”_

Apparently there was a cow next door.

Opening a window and leaning out to see if any stray members of the bovine ungulate family were in the alley, Derek heard it again, clearly from his neighbor’s apartment.

_“Mmmoo-oo-oo!”_

It did not sound like a recording, not like something coming through a TV, radio, or iPod. It sounded like an actual living breathing mooing _cow_.

Derek heard movement and voices in the hallway. He rushed to his door, opening it in time to see a guy walking past.

“Excuse me!”

The guy stopped in his tracks and rotated. He had a mop of dark wavy hair, crooked jaw, and a look on his face like that of someone caught in the act.

“Yes?” the guy replied.

“Did you hear that?” Derek asked.

“Hear—what?”

Derek knew when a question was an evasive one but at that very instant— _“Mmmoo-oo-oo!”_ —sounded again, followed by someone yelling “Shut up!”

“That,” Derek said. “That moo!”

Crooked-jaw’s guilty look was replaced with an attempt at a confident smile. “Probably just some—kids—foolin’ around.”

“You’re a friend of the guy in 43, aren’t you?” Derek interrogated. He'd seen the guy come and go.

Crooked-jaw nodded. “He’s my best bud. Stiles.”

“So you have no knowledge as to why I’m hearing loud repetitive mooing from next door?”

“Nope,” Crooked-jaw said, this time with more convincing confidence. “Not even Stiles would keep a cow in an apartment!” He grinned.

“So he won’t mind my asking him what he’s got in there?”

“Suit yourself!” Crooked-jaw said before whirling around and undeniably bolting towards the elevators.

Another _“Mmoo-oo-oo!"_ steeled Derek’s resolve. He rapped on his neighbor’s door.

_“Come on in, asshole!”_

Derek heard what might have been crashing noises from inside.

_“Come on in, asshole!”_

The apartment door flung open, a flustered looking young man—Stiles—stood there.

_“Come on in, asshole!”_

“Jesus! Sorry!—That wasn’t me!” he exclaimed.

They’d never talked and done no more than nod crossing paths in the building. Derek being hopeless at small talk, their occasional rides up and down in the elevator had been nothing but awkward.

That didn’t mean Derek hadn’t noticed Stiles’s perpetual bed head, big Bambi eyes and bowed lips.

“You don’t have a cow in there, do you,” Derek said. It was no longer a question.

"Shit, no, no.—It’s a parrot!—Come in, I’ll prove it!” Stiles blurted.

“I believe you,” Derek said but walked in anyway.

In a corner of a cluttered room with one small couch, a modest-sized flat-screen TV and everything else looking more or less like debris, stood a large cage, inside of which was a largish bird, mostly dark gray, white around its eyes with some red on its tail.

“Meet Fortunato,” Stiles said.

The introduction produced the immediate response: _“Fortunato says fuck you!”_

“Jeez, I’m really sorry,” Stiles said, meekly.

_“Fortunato says fuck you!”_

“Keep quiet!” Stiles commanded.

It produced momentary silence.

“It’s an African grey parrot—you know, the really smart ones? They’ve got the intelligence of four year old humans,” Stiles explained.

“I don’t know any four year olds with that kind of vocabulary,” Derek replied.

“Yeah.—Someone brought him in for a check-up at my friend’s clinic. A week ago. Hasn’t come back for him. Can’t be reached.”

“Wonder why.”

Stiles giggled. “So Scott—he’s a vet—says they can’t keep him at the clinic, ‘cause of his foul mouth. And Scott’s wife won’t allow it in their home because they’ve got a baby.”

 _“Oh yeah, baby!”_ Fortunato cried, his demeanor never anything other than that of a bird on its perch.

Then: _“Fuck me, daddy. I’m your good boy.”_

Blushing, Stiles said through his teeth, ”Fortunato, that’s enough!”

_“Fortunato says fuck you!”_

“Where was he kept before this,” Derek asked. “A leather bar?”

Stiles giggled again. “Yeah, right?—Scott just brought him over a few hours ago. I don’t know his entire repertoire.” Stiles paused, adding, sheepishly, “African greys can speak about a hundred words, Scott says.”

_“Oh yeah, baby!”_

“But where’d he learn to moo?”

“The leather bar was next door to a cattle ranch?” Stiles speculated.

_“Fuck me, daddy.”_

“Maybe a porno studio?”

_“Fuck me, daddy. I’m your good boy.”_

“Um, do you want… a beer or something?” Stiles asked.

Finally Derek realized he was actually talking to the hottie next door, and all his usual awkwardness came crashing down.

“Actually—I’m sorry—I barged in like this. It was just. The mooing,” Derek stammered out.

And on cue: _“Mmmoo-oo-oo!”_

Relieved to be talking about the bird again: “It’s really uncanny, how— _cow-like_ that sounds.” Derek said. Now he was both awkward _and_ an idiot.

“I’m Stiles, by the way.” Stiles proffered his hand.

“Oh. Yeah. Your friend—Scott—he told me,” Derek babbled.

“You know Scott?”

“No. I saw him. Out in the hall. When I was looking. For the cow.”

Derek made a mental note to stop talking about cows.

“And… your name?” Stiles inquired.

“Oh! Derek. It’s—Derek.” He held out his hand despite having already shaken Stiles’s.

“Nice to meet you, Derek, officially.”

 _“I like big dicks. You got one?”_ Fortunato announced.

“Oh my god,” Stiles despaired, renewing his blush spectacularly.

“ _I like big dicks. You got one?”_

“I don’t know what to do, Derek.”

_“I like big dicks. Fuck me, daddy.”_

“I guess the mooing’s better,” Derek said.

“I gotta call Scott. Maybe there’s rehab for parrots.”

“Maybe if we stop talking he will too,” Derek suggested.

Gushing out of Stiles’s mouth: “I don’t _want_ to stop talking to… you.”

Derek had blushed so much already, this one wasn’t noticeable.

“OK. Well… we can keep talking. But in… my place?” he proposed.

Stiles smiled and nodded. “I’ll bring beer?”

“I like wine.—I’ve got—wine,” Derek said, demurely.

“Let’s go then!”

 _“Oh yeah, baby! Tap dat ass!”_ Fortunato screeched as the pair left Stiles’s apartment.

“I’m gonna _kill_ Scott,” Stiles swore.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a friend with an African grey parrot. It didn't have Fortunato's gutter mouth, but it was an amazing mimic--which I learned after wandering around that apartment looking for the phone that wouldn't stop ringing, only to learn it was the bird. (African greys can throw their voices too!)


End file.
